Monthly Archives: May 2012

I don’t know why, but my butt was dragging today.  All Day.

I made it as far as 6:00pm, faking consciousness most of the time leading up to it. Both kids had friends over and we were visiting grandma.  I kerplunked down on the Chaise Lounger on her screened porch.

The sky was a beautiful blue.

The breeze was cool and gentle.

The red and gold finches and tufted titmice were chirping gaily along on a nearby feeder.

My son and his best friend were playing on the Wii and I could hear then laughing in the distance.

My daughter and her best friend were chatting away with Grandma on the porch near me.

Except for my swollen, painful knee and complete and life-sucking lethargy, all was well with the world.

And then there was nothing.

…..

I awoke to laughter.  I don’t know how long I had been dozing, but the sky was now a dark shade of gray, and I was aware of a new crick in my neck.

As I climbed out of the sleepy fog, I could see that my Varmint and her friend were playing charades with Grandma.  They saw me wake up and were quick to show me how they had used me during their game.

Varmint assumed a sleeping posture, with her mouth agape at a rather unflattering angle, and started snorting.

Which made them all giggle.

I have a horrible suspicion that it will only be a few years until I awake from one of these spontaneous naps to find either sharpie ink on my face, or shaving cream in my ear. Or my hand in a bowl of warm water.  Or pictures of me drooling on my pillow on the internet.

And no, I don’t believe for one moment that my mother would stop them.

Two-Year-Old Twins + Boys + Firetrucks = Pure Joy

My dear friend Eleny and her boys came to visit us this weekend, and of course we took the boys to My Captain’s fire station.  You would have thought we had taken them to Nirvana.

First there was active exploring of the apparatus.  Including fine crevice check.

And then there was inspection of the Officer’s seat.

A full circle check of the outside of the vehicles.

A lot of up and down-ing with the help of my Varmint.

Then inspection of the Officer Seat of the Ladder Truck.

And driver side of the Engine, with the help of a Master Firefighter.

And a high-five to boot.

Oh Zach is READY to drive this baby.

Look at the dreaming going on here.  This might be the start of something beautiful.

Yes, Zach may be well on his way to becoming a recruit.

But Vince is happy to stay with Mom and My Varmint a little while longer.

He knows a good thing when he sees it.

I got to see my wonderful longtime friend Eleny this past weekend.  She brought her two beautiful boys….twin two year olds, Zack and Vincent.

All women reading this now groan a collective “eeeesh!”

Is she tired?  Heck yes.  Is she up to the challenge?  Heck yes.  Does she want a break?  HELL YES.

Her boys are really sweet, even during their mandatory 2-year-old-bucking-the-system-“No”-ness.  I watched her handle them with a combination of empathy and humor.  My kids are only 18 months apart, and they nearly killed me at that age.  I can only imagine her own frustration and fatigue.

But watching her orchestrate their day made me think of an old joke:

What do you call a dog with no legs?

It doesn’t matter, they won’t come anyways.

Ba dum bum.

So there is my new analogy for 2 year olds.  They are like dogs with no legs.

I don’t know why more people don’t come to me for parenting advice.

As I sat in class all day today, I was uncomfortable for a myriad of reasons:

I was hot. (Blame the pre-menopausal hormones.)

I was the least experienced and knowledgable medic in the room. (Though, inexplicably, that fact didn’t keep me quiet.)

My knee is still painfully bothering me, despite my cortisone shots. (I fear I am looking at arthroscopic surgery in my very near future.)

I’m so fat my hips were pressing against the sides of the cheap classroom chairs.  (Does this chair make my butt look big?)

And something kept pricking me just under my right boob.

I couldn’t figure out what the heck it was.  It was like a needle scraping along my tender under-boobie flesh (that’s a medical term, by the way, much like Pubic Synthysis).

I kept trying to nonchalantly move my bra around in case it was a cat hair or something that was poking through the material.  But nothing I did fixed it.

Then I had a horrible idea…what if it was a bug caught in my bra?  What if it wasn’t a pricking sensation, but a biting sensation??

I couldn’t wait for the next break so I could disrobe and see what the problem was.  I couldn’t concentrate on the lecture because all I could envision was a brown recluse spider injecting its venom into my under-boob. I began imagining the class discussing the protocols for Morphine as I slowly necrotized waiting for the next coffee break.  Then that fear morphed into me envisioning my boob falling off.

I have a healthy imagination.

Finally they called a break. I limped (see knee pain above) over to the bathroom, violently ripped off my blouse and began rummaging around in my bra, bracing myself for the horrible venomous insect I was sure to find.

My fingers found it.  I pulled out…..

…a crumb from the McDonald’s Bacon, Egg, and Cheese Biscuit I’d had for breakfast.

My relief was palpable.

Now, you’d think I’d be so mortified that I eat with such wanton abandon that food ends up in unlikely crevices on my person. You’d think that I would hesitate to post it on Mamaboe for anyone to see.

The way I see it is this:  That was a damn good breakfast.

I’ll be wearing turtlenecks to class from now on.

I went to go see a colo-rectal surgeon last week.  I didn’t need to.  I just wanted to pass the time.

That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Look, when you are my age, you end up going places you never thought you would.  Some people go to Paris, I go to a colo-rectal guy.

ANYWAYS… without going into any more detail about my personal issues… I was sitting in the office…and sitting and sitting and sitting.  The doc was running way late.

After a bit, I had to go to the potty.  So I went up to the male, twenty-something receptionist and said, “Excuse me, I have to go to the restroom.”

He said, “Do you know the number?”

I paused, “Um, I think it’s going to be number 2.”

He paused.

Other people in the waiting room snickered.

A moment or two passed by.

Then he cleared his throat, “No, I mean, do you want the combination?”

And I said, “Whatever combination it is, is fine with me, son.”

I got called in to see the doc very soon after that.

Maybe one day I’ll get to Paris.